Over A Cup of Coffee
by Tan Kimiko
Summary: [Oneshot]1st part of The War Trilogy. Hours before the start of the war, Hermione is a wreck inside. And the one who comforts her and teaches her an important lesson is someone Hermione didn't expect...[DMHG]


**Harry Potter© J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, Bloomsbury Books, Warner Bros. "Eyes on Me" was sung by Faye Wong.**

* * *

**Over A Cup of Coffee  
**_A Draco and Hermione Fanfiction

* * *

_

_Oh, God, please give me courage._ Hermione prayed as she clasped on her robes and picked up her wand, 12-inches, yew, with unicorn hair and dragon scale. It was newly polished, and the surface shined. At exactly three-fifteen this early morning, the war against Voldemort would officially start.

She could hardly believe this was happening, and she hadn't graduated from Hogwarts yet. Her seventh year still had four and a half months to go.

Gazing at herself in the mirror, Hermione could see her paper-white face, the loss of color on her lips and the wide brown eyes. But in it, she could see the sparkle of determination, the strength to fight and the knowledge to survive. What she was now ultimately lacking was courage, when ironically, Gryffindor was known for that trait.

_Do I want to do this? Will I die tonight?_

Hermione closed her eyes tightly, fists clenching. Fear and nervousness were clutching her stomach, and she had an irresistible urge to vomit, but refused to succumb to that disgusting urge. It was a good thing that she had her own room—a privilege being a Head Girl—so that the others wouldn't see their Golden Girl looking like this.

_Whenever sang my songs,__  
On the stage, on my own.__  
Whenever said my words,__  
Wishing they would be heard._

Finally finding composure, Hermione breathed in deeply and exhaled, turning her back on her red-and-gold themed room and walked out to the common room. What she saw there made disbelief pour into her being.

Malfoy was there, sitting on the couch in front of the fire, looking all for the world nonchalant, sipping a steaming cup of tea. Or was it coffee? Nonetheless, with merely hours before the war, he was sitting there like nothing of importance was going to happen!

"What in bloody hell are you doing, Malfoy?" Hermione calmly asked, but her teeth were clenched together and annoyance was spreading through her like the hot beverage he was drinking spreading their warmth into his. He was dressed in a thick, black winter cloak to ward off the cold, his hair brushed back, gray eyes staring straight ahead but swiveled to her at her question.

Quirking one eyebrow, he drawled, "What does it look like, Granger? I'm drinking coffee." He raised his cup. "Care to have one?"

Hermione was on the verge of lashing out. _How can he do something mundane like that just before a war that might kill him?_ She opened her mouth to say something vile, but she stopped, taking in his weary face, the hardened gray eyes that only now she noticed.

One minute later, she was on the couch beside him, holding a cup of nice, warm coffee.

_I saw you smiling at me,__  
Was it real or just my fantasy?__  
You'd always be there in the corner__  
Of this tiny, little bar._

"What's the purpose of doing this?" Hermione asked a while later.

"For me, it's just to give me enough of this caffeine to help me stay awake for later. For you…to settle your rattled nerves." Malfoy answered smoothly. When she started to protest, he held up one hand to stop her. "Don't deny it, Granger. When you walked out of your bedroom you looked like you're going to the guillotine."

She smiled wryly and took another sip. The snow wasn't coming down hard, just speckles of white in the sky. But the grounds were covered in ankle-deep snow, all white and pure that would soon be covered in blood and dead bodies.

"Are you afraid?" Malfoy asked.

Hermione again felt the need to protest, but felt that this wasn't the time to pretend. Here in this common room, with two of them sitting down, drinking coffee like they were old friends, was impossible if it happened years ago. But now, with their lives at stake, they didn't think of any Slytherin-Gryffindor feud or Pureblood-Muggle-born discrimination, but just the thought that they were on the same side.

"Yes," She admitted, looking at the fire. "I'm afraid of what's going to happen. I kept thinking, 'Will I die out there?' or 'Why is it this way?' or 'Was I right to join this fight?' This feeling of endless doubt…is it fear?"

"Of course it is. Someone who isn't scared of what's going to happen later must surely be born fools or plain naïve." Malfoy said.

She turned to look at him. "But you aren't afraid."

"Who says I'm not?"

"You don't look like it."

Malfoy gave a small smirk. "Granger, if I don't look frightened out of my wits doesn't mean I'm not. Some people just handle their emotions differently." He pointed out. "Maybe, for example, Dumbledore. He doesn't look like he's afraid, right? He just seems to smile that smile of his always. It's his way of handling his fear."

Now that Hermione thought about it, Harry handled fear differently, too. He does pale, to an extent, but his fear was always underneath a veil of determination and will that it was almost non-existent. But she knew—she definitely knew—that it was there.

_My last night here for you__  
Same old songs, just once more.__  
My last night here with you?__  
Maybe yes, maybe no._

Malfoy stared at the cackling fire, the orange hue bouncing off his black clothing and white-blond hair, making them seem darker. His eyes reflected the fire in the hearth, but they were cold. He knew that this day would come, when he was going to fight against Voldemort…against his father.

Lucius Malfoy did not take kindly to the news that his only child, son and heir refused to join ranks with the Dark Lord and escaped the Manor to pledge his allegiance to Dumbledore and Harry Potter. He knew he had nothing keeping him at his father's side anymore, since Narcissa Malfoy, the only one who showed him a semblance of parental affection, died just last year.

The newspapers said she was taken by surprise by a storm and fell off a cliff within the grounds. Malfoy knew his father killed her.

Now the war was going to start and he would kill his father, or his father's friends, or some of his housemates who joined with that disgusting monster they called "master". If he didn't die tonight, then maybe on the next battle or on the next. Surely he would not survive to see the end of the war.

Maybe now, sitting there on the couch with Hermione…surely this would be one final time they would accompany each other, laying it all on the table over a cup of coffee.

_I kind of liked it your way,__  
How you shyly placed your eyes on me__  
Did you ever know__  
That I had mine on you?_

"Malfoy?"

"Hm?"

"Do you think…do you think I'll die tonight?"

The question was so softly phrased that he wouldn't catch it if he weren't listening intently. Malfoy turned sharply to her, and was stunned to see her looking up at him, her eyes a warm brown, all open and vulnerable. _She was very frightened._

"Too bad I don't have the power to see the future, Granger, but…"

Hermione waited.

"But I believe that you won't. Not tonight, if you have the will to live."

_Darling, so there you are,__  
With that look on your face.__  
As if you're never hurt.__  
As if you're never down._

"The will…to live?" Hermione echoed, her face now thoughtful. _Do I have a will to live? What does it take for me to have one?_

Malfoy seemed to read her thoughts, because he said, "For you to have a will to live, you have to have a reason to stay alive, and grasp to that reason tightly, no matter how childish or shallow it is. If you simply believe it, want it so badly to come true; that you'll want to have that determination to stay alive…you won't die. You'll survive to see what the war has done."

She was impressed, seeing Malfoy in a new light. Smiling behind her cup, she asked, "And you? Do you have the will to live?" But her smile dropped at his reply.

"My reason to live just died last year. Mother holds the embodiment of everything I want to live for. She was there for me always. After father killed her, all I want is to fight against him. If I kill my father somewhere in between the war…well, Granger, I think I'll die happy."

_Shall I be the one for you,__  
Who pinches you softly but sure?__  
If frown is shown then,__  
I will know that you are no dreamer._

Hermione stared dumbfounded at him. "You mean," She said slowly, "That you'll just go and commit suicide."

He shrugged. "If that's how you think of it, then yes. My only reason now is to kill my father. After that, I have no qualms in dying."

_So let me come to you,  
__Close as I want to be.__  
Close enough for me,__  
To feel your heart beating fast._

Hermione felt ill. That clawing feeling in her stomach started again; she desperately wanted to retch. Her whole body had gone cold, and her skin couldn't feel the heat of the fire. But she knew that this feeling now was not because of fear, but something different altogether.

Malfoy took another sip of coffee, now saying nothing. Silence ruled.

_And stay there as I whisper,__  
How I love your peaceful eyes on me__  
Did you ever know__  
That I had mine on you?_

Malfoy looked peaceful, accepting of his fate. Hermione couldn't believe that this man, sitting beside her, just staring at the fire and holding his drink, wanted to die. Not tonight, maybe, but just after he killed his good-for-nothing father.

Then a feeling started to grow in her, one that wanted him desperately to live. She realized she wanted to see him alive and well after the war. He would probably marry, have children and grandchildren and live to a grand old age. Hermione wanted him to have that life, after the war, not rotting in the grave because he was killed in a battle.

"Malfoy…"

He turned and looked at her with his beautiful gray eyes. And suddenly, she had an undeniable urge to cry.

_Darling, so share with me__  
Your love if you have enough,__  
The tears if you're holding back__  
Or pain if that's what it is._

And cry she did. The tears were slow to come, gathering in her eyes and one by one started to trickle down her cheeks. Hermione didn't sob; she was quiet, sitting there, face turned to him and let the tears flow.

"Granger, what the bloody hell?" Malfoy sputtered, surprised. "What's wrong with you? Are you in pain or something? Granger, are you listening?" When she didn't answer, just stared at him with those tears of hers, he sighed in silent frustration and the knowledge that he didn't know what to do; he took his handkerchief and handed it to her.

Annoyance took on a new level when she didn't accept it.

Malfoy didn't know what to do when a girl cried. If hysterically, he could try calming down a lady. But Hermione wasn't hysterical. Her crying was silent and calm. As tenderly as he could, he wiped away her tears with the handkerchief, awkwardly putting his hand on her back and patting her in comfort.

"Granger, stop crying. I haven't done anything wrong, did I? Just…pull yourself together." Malfoy soothed, hopefully enough so she could stop doing that. It unnerved him. "Hey, now, take it easy. Here, tea would suit you." Taking his wand, he conjured up a hot cup of chamomile tea. He took the coffee from her hands and placed the tea instead. "Come on, drink it slowly. That's a good little witch."

_How can I let you know,__  
I'm more than the dress and the voice__  
Just reach me out then__  
You will know that you're not dreaming._

"Now, would you mind telling me what was that all about?" Malfoy demanded. "That was one of the frightening things I've ever seen in my life."

Hermione smiled weakly and helped herself to another cup of tea. She admitted to herself that it wasn't like her to cry like that, without any particularly known reason, but she did. She was embarrassed at what she'd done.

"I…I can't explain, really." She finally whispered. "I just had this intense emotion in me, and I suddenly wanted to cry. I fought the urge, Malfoy, I did, but it got the best of me. I'm sorry if I frightened you."

Sighing, he brushed his fingers through his hair. "Well, next time you do that in my presence, Granger, warn me." Malfoy downed the last of his coffee. "I bloody panicked like a chicken running around without a head."

_You didn't look like it,_ she mused.

A popping sound came from the hearth, and Headmaster Dumbledore's head came into view. His face was grim. "Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Granger, I suggest you make haste to the Great Hall. The time is almost upon us. The war will start in less than an hour."

"Of course, headmaster." Malfoy said. When Dumbledore's head disappeared, he turned to Hermione, who looked strangely detached. "Granger, come on. We're needed." He turned towards the portrait hole, his black cloak swishing silently.

"Malfoy?"

He stopped and looked behind him. Hermione was staring at him, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. She walked to him and paused a foot away from him.

"I've found my will to live."

He looked puzzled but nodded. "Good for you."

"Do you want to know the reason?"

Malfoy was confused now. "Not particularly," He said with a shrug. "But okay. What is it?"

"I've decided that I want to have a cup of coffee again with you, in a comfortable room, with a couch in front of a fireplace, with orange flames bobbing merrily in the hearth, after the war." Hermione told him. She saw his eyes widen fractionally. "I'll hold to that dream, believing it and want it to be true." She took a few steps forward and placed a hand over his cheek. "Please don't disappoint me, Draco Malfoy. I will hold you to it." And she was out of the hole and gone.

He stood there, stunned, still feeling her hand on his cheek, thoughts flashing through his mind. And then Malfoy understood what she'd done, and gave a small smile at her ingenuity. He shook his head and turned to the portrait hole again.

Hermione Granger had just instilled in him the will to live. And knew he would keep his non-verbal promise extracted subtly from him. Malfoys always keep their promises.

In the common room, on the small table, the porcelain cups reflected the orange light of the fire.

* * *

_Darling, so there you are,__  
With that look on your face.__  
As if you're never hurt.__  
As if you're never down._

Hermione entered the room and closed the door silently, walking towards the couch placed in front of the fireplace, the orange light illuminating the whole room and creating shadows in the right places. Her feet didn't create any sound of the carpet, just lights thuds. She was staring at the person sitting predictably on the couch.

"Coffee or tea?"

She smiled. "Tea for me this time." Hermione said.

Malfoy shrugged. "Suit yourself." And he conjured another cup for her. She chuckled, sliding down on the seat beside him and placing her head on his shoulder, sipping slowly. They sat in comfortable silence. Being together was something they treasured and did not take for granted. Almost a year ago, after two and a half years, the war was finally over, with Harry barely alive.

Hermione was one of the people who had almost died in one of the many battles leading to the end, her condition critical, but she managed to pull through when Malfoy's voice reminded her on her reason to live. _The will to live_, she remembered back then. Now, her souvenir from that battle that almost cost her life was a long, jagged scar on her stomach.

"Draco?"

"Hm?"

"We're going to live until we're old and frail, aren't we?"

He gave a smile that warmed her heart. "Do you doubt it?"

The fire cheerfully cackled in the hearth, the only source of light of the library in the Malfoy Manor, the orange flame reflected in both Hermione and Malfoy's eyes, and the twin wedding bands resting in each of their left ring fingers.

_Shall I be the one for you,__  
Who pinches you softly but sure?__  
If frown is shown then,__  
I will know that you are no dreamer._

**_Finis_**

Author's Notes: This is a long way from the sort of genres I usually write. In my opinion, this borders on drama/angst, with just a hint of comedy and a dash of romance. I planned to leave it at the time when they walk out of the dormitory, but my sister didn't find it complete yet (admittedly, she liked a happy ending). This one-shot was inspired by the song "Eyes on Me" when it was playing on the computer. I really don't know _how_ it came to have this plot. Maybe I was just on the dark side at the time I was typing it.

My goal for this story is to give Draco and Hermione a "moment" between them, to let Hermione know Draco a bit other than his sadistic side. This may be the catalyst that changed her view of him. Plus, I played with Hermione's feelings. I wanted her emotions to be realistic. Not that I have anything against a very brave, courageous and fearless Hermione, but really, wouldn't anyone be afraid if they knew they could get killed in a war?

Although I have not used the word "revenge" in this story, Draco is doing that exact same thing. In here, I placed Narcissa in Draco's mind in a pedestal, and the point where Draco would leave his father for Dumbledore. "Revenge" seemed like, at the time, a very nasty word to speak of his only reason to live. Notice, also, that I did not call him in his first name. "Malfoy" suited him best for the tone of the story.

If you are lazy in doing calculations, the timeline for this story is mid-January. Also, as you read in the summary, this is the first part of "The War Trilogy". My goal for the trilogy is for the Golden Trio to learn lessons or realizations that they need to discover. Here, this is Draco and Hermione's story, where the "Brain of the Trio" learns how to fight fear and the will of living.

The second of the "The War Trilogy" would be entitled, "Stargazing", a Harry/Ginny fic.


End file.
